Sad.  and it comes
tomorrow.  again, grey the streaks
of work
shredding the stone
of the pavement, dissolving
with the idea.
of singular endeavor.  herds, the
herds
of suffering intelligences
bunched,
and out of
hearing.  though the day
come to us,
in waves
sun, air, the beat of the clock
though I stare at the radical world,
wishing it would stand still.
tell me,
and i gain at the telling of the lie and the waking against the heavy breathing of new light, dawn
shattering the naïve cluck of feeling.
what is tomorrow  
that it cannot come today?
-Leroi Jones

my whole body was screaming at me to go dance
in the rain
to let my skin get soaked
to let my clothes cling to my frame
i wanted to feel the wet leaves between my toes
i wanted my wet hair to cling together in certain places that would never cling together again,
to twirl around like i was a ballerina
or a lost little girl
finding something she has always been looking for
i simply wanted to let my body
be controlled by nature
and not by man
but as soon as i made up my mind
the rain had stopped
someday i will dance in the rain
and i will forget
everything.

i nourish and swaddle a terrifying loss inside of me.  feed it when starved and pretend its evil isn't being projected in front of my biased eyes.
unsatisfied.
deprived of the will to push something out of my throat, a whimper. an amber spotlight directed in a lovers' eye.
a deeply exaggerated mood. it's false manner suffocating the enlightenment that comes from being brave.
i will be brave.
brave for the perpetual satisfaction of a wave slapping a wet shore, an infinite amount of sunrises and sunsets. i will be brave for the last breathe to scrape out of a once living being.
i nourish and swaddle a terrifying love inside of me.